


livestream

by sketchedsmiles



Series: streamers [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, AranKita The Scariest TAs Ever, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Streamer Sakusa Kiyoomi, Suna And Sakusa Are Best Friends, Technology, background arankita
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29514636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sketchedsmiles/pseuds/sketchedsmiles
Summary: Sakusa is used to attention. As a full-time student and a part-time streamer, his videos of gameplay garner thousands of views on a daily basis.Still, nothing can prepare him for what it's like to have the attention of Miya Atsumu. Atsumu is many things: chatty, endearing, earnest. But he's more observant than most give him credit for.And he might be the only person who reminds Sakusa to take care of himself.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: streamers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168157
Comments: 45
Kudos: 399
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	livestream

**Author's Note:**

> written for day four: college au of [sakuatsu fluff week 2021](https://twitter.com/sktsfluffweek)

Sleep deprivation is part of the college experience. At least, that’s what Sakusa tells himself as he sees the clock strike two in the morning and his eyelids start to droop further. It’s gotten to that point in the night where he can’t stop yawning, and his viewers have started spamming his chat with questions filled with concern— _Are you tired? You should go to bed! Don’t you have class tomorrow?_

Yes, he does in fact have class tomorrow, but it’s in the afternoon. Sakusa has already planned on sleeping in, getting a mixture of breakfast and lunch, and then heading off to his biology lab. But in the meantime, these hours past midnight are dedicated to his other hobby: streaming.

Sakusa can’t pinpoint the exact moment he decided on making a Twitch account. He’s certain Komori lured him into it. Actually, scratch that. He’s positive Komori made the account and sent him the log-in information, just so Sakusa had no other excuse not to do it. But he knows that this is the result of a long build-up, from beating Komori countless times in every video game they could get their hands on whenever their parents encouraged them to hang out up until the moment he met Suna Rintarou and Suna destroyed him in Super Smash Brothers without batting an eye. 

Suna Rintarou—the bane of his existence. Trouble follows Suna wherever he goes, likely because he’s started it in the first place, and somehow, Sakusa has been roped into that trouble. As soon as Komori caught wind of Suna’s online presence—where he streams almost daily for a channel filled with thousands of followers that watch him play video games mostly in silence—he insisted that Sakusa make an account, too.

It took a long few months of wheedling Sakusa down before he gave in. He’s not the most social person. He doesn’t consider himself interesting enough for people to invest hours of their lives into watching him play video games. He barely ever knows what to say half the time. But Komori had insisted, using Suna as an example, and after Sakusa watched Suna do a three-hour stream in complete silence while a lollipop clacked between his teeth, he figured he’d give it a shot. Suna had encouraged Komori after all, insisting that he could use someone tangible and present to play with.

See, Sakusa had never seen himself as being _good_ at gaming until Komori made the case that he was. He had believed his skill level to be average. He completed games over long spans of time, but he always finished them. He hadn’t thought of himself as being anything out of the ordinary. As it turns out, when he compares himself with others on the platform, he’s decent. Decent is cutting him a bit short. He’s _good._ So is Suna—which is probably why Suna gets away with making obnoxious slurping sounds into his microphone with minimal complaints. 

Sakusa started streaming on the account a few months into his first year at university. The first few were awkward and stilted. It took him a while to adjust to all of the technological demands. He struggled connecting his microphone, and then he couldn’t figure out how best to address the chat. But he pushed forward—because both Suna and Komori insisted. A year later, he has several hundred thousand followers on his channel, and a packed schedule that involves almost daily streams. He still thinks he hasn’t got it all down pat, even with the year of experience he has under his belt. Most of his interactions with his followers are still tricky, but he’s learned that they don’t mind his quiet demeanor. Any hesitation they hold towards him vanishes once they watch him play. 

For the most part, his streams are casual and easy, except on nights like these, when he has another person speaking through his headset. 

“Hah,” Suna says with a low chuckle under his breath. It’s still jarring that Sakusa can hear him clear as day, even though Suna sits in a bedroom identical to Sakusa’s located down the hall. “I just pushed someone off.”

On the nights where he and Suna stream together, they always wind up being more lively. It’s easier this way. He can pretend that it’s a normal gaming session with no expectations. No one is watching. No one is staring. It’s him and Suna. It’s easier when he isn’t left alone with the chat. On nights like these, he and Suna can have simple conversations while bashing out a stream for a few hours. 

Suna has encouraged Sakusa’s terrible sleeping habits over the past few months ever since they decided to share an apartment together for their second year. It made sense this way. He and Suna spend most nights together, linked with an Internet connection and a bulky headset between them, and it’s much easier for their mutual interest to converge when they exist in the same space. 

Suna isn’t a terrible roommate. He’s—acceptable. He respects Sakusa’s cleaning tendencies, and whatever mess he creates, he contains it to his bedroom. So long as Sakusa pretends that Suna’s bedroom doesn’t exist, he doesn’t mind the clutter concentrated there. He stays out of Sakusa’s way, even keeping his food on his designated shelves in the refrigerator, and he’s quiet enough that he goes unnoticed. He spends most of his time in their apartment, skipping out on all the classes he never attends. He’s an acceptable roommate. More than that, he’s one of Sakusa’s closest friends. 

“You’re so mean, Suna,” Sakusa comments. As he says this, another yawn erupts out of him, and he shakes his head in an attempt to ward off the exhaustion that hangs over him, the curls on his forehead shifting with the movement. “You can’t play the game without ruining someone’s night.”

“Nope.” There’s a loud _pop_ , and it sounds even louder against Sakusa’s eardrum. There’s a few exaggerated smacking sounds as Suna chews on his gum again. “It’s more fun this way.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Uh-huh.” Because this is how Suna plays most of the time. If he buckles down, he’s even better at most games than Sakusa. But if he isn’t inclined to perform at his best, he’s a massive troll instead. 

Sakusa’s gaze shifts over to the clock again as he feels another yawn coming on. It _is_ later than he thought. The comfort of his bed sounds more appealing the more he thinks about it. This stream is already four hours long. It’s about time to cut it. 

Sakusa waits for the round to end, and then for them to play the final round—in which neither of them turns out the winner—before he says, “I’m going to bed. I’m tired.”

“Right,” Suna replies. “Yeah, I’ll do that, too.”

“Are you? Or are you going to spend the next couple of hours scrolling through Twitter?”

“No, no,” Suna says. “I’ll actually go to bed. I have a lecture at eleven tomorrow, anyway.”

“Mmm.” As he glances at his chat, he sees a series of messages roll through as a final set of donations come through for the night. He’ll read them once he gets off the call with Suna. “Alright. Night, then.”

“Night,” Suna says, and there’s one last pop before the call disconnects. 

It takes another few minutes for Sakusa to read the last-minute donations and tell the chat goodbye, and by the time he’s shut off his computer, it’s closer to two-thirty. His movements are robotic as he brushes his teeth and gurgles with mouthwash. He sets his alarm on his phone—just in case his body is tempted to waste the day away—and he falls into bed, sinking into his mattress, the covers pooling around him. Sakusa drifts off within seconds, his mind falling into the slumber it so desperately craved. 

* * *

Sakusa takes it back. He takes it all back. He shouldn’t have stayed up so late to stream. Hindsight is an incredible thing, and it’s also a cruel bitch.

There’s a small part of him right now that really sympathizes with Suna, who had rolled out of bed around ten and left for his lecture fifty minutes later, guaranteed to make his class in the nick of time. Suna’s class was earlier, and he still made it. But as Sakusa strides across campus, dodging past the other students milling around, aiming for the Pharmacy and Biology Building near the northern part of the university, he understands that he’s cutting it close. 

It’s fortunate that he’s as tall as he is. Crowds split apart for him more often than not, as people can spot him coming from a good distance away, and he’s more grateful for that than ever as it cuts his journey by a few minutes. The building starts to loom in the distance, and his pace quickens. He tightens his grip on the straps of his backpack and darts towards the side door, the one that takes him directly along to the row of introductory laboratories designed for students. 

Sakusa pulls the door open and heads inside, but a sharp voice behind him makes him pause. 

“Hey! Wait! Couldja hold the door?”

It’s times like these when Sakusa wishes he lacked the proper manners that made him an acceptable member of society. He wishes he could let the door swing shut and pretend like he didn’t hear the person behind him at all. But he can’t. Even though there’s a minute separating him from being late on the first day to this mandatory lab course, he swings out his foot to hold the door open a little longer. 

As Sakusa looks back over his shoulder, he catches his first glimpse of the person to whom the voice belongs. The first thing he notices is the head of blonde hair before his gaze drops to the maroon ‘Inarizaki Volleyball Club’ sweatshirt. To his surprise, the guy isn’t much shorter than him. It’s rare to find people that compete with him in terms of height, though Suna manages to. He’s also built, his shoulders wide and imposing, and Sakusa wonders whether he’s a student athlete.

He looks like a jock. He’s probably a jock. 

It’s all offset by a lop-sided smile that softens out the rest of his features. 

“Thanks for that,” he says as he reaches the door. Sakusa nods once he’s inside, and he drops his foot to let the door fall shut. “Really appreciate it.”

“Uh-huh.” 

Sakusa slides past him in order to start up the steps, but he falters when the guy does a double take. It’s unnerving the way recognition flares in his eyes, and it sends a trickle of unease down Sakusa’s spine. It’s not like Sakusa dislikes being noticed. It’s that he never intends to seek attention out, so it’s always jarring when he receives it. 

“Hey,” the guy says, pointing at Sakusa with a thick finger. It takes all of Sakusa’s resolve not to shy away from it. “I know you. You’re that streamer—MementOmi? Right?”

Sakusa chews on the inside of his mouth. It’s not that he’s never been recognized on campus before. With the kind of audience he has, it’s inevitable that he’s on the receiving end of a few lingering stares in lectures or in the dining hall. But no one has ever confronted him about it. This is a new experience for him. And he’s not too keen on discussing it when he’s definitely now late for class. 

“Uh, yeah,” Sakusa says. He uses the opportunity to continue past, and he heads up the stairs, his sneakers pounding against the floor. To his dismay, the guy follows right behind him. 

“That’s so cool,” he remarks. “I’m Miya Atsumu, by the way. Sorry, I don’t think I introduced myself.”

His class is on the third floor. Sakusa continues past the sign for the second floor, hoping that Atsumu will split off from him here and that he doesn’t have to continue engaging in this unbearable conversation. “Hi,” he says, short and sweet.

Unfortunately, luck doesn’t turn his way. Atsumu follows him up the next flight of stairs, their shared footsteps echoing inside the small space. No matter how quickly Sakusa climbs them, Atsumu is right behind. 

“I don’t think I know yer name,” Atsumu says. “You always just call yourself Omi during yer streams.”

“It’s a nickname.” As Sakusa reaches the next landing, he races for the handle that leads him into the next hallway, where the classrooms are located. “My actual name is Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

“Oh. Nice name.”

“Uh-huh.”

Atsumu places his palm flat against the door to keep it open longer. “This is my floor.”

“Oh.” Of course they’d be on the same floor. Sakusa moves forward, but Atsumu continues to match him for every stride. It doesn’t matter that it’s obvious Sakusa’s interest is elsewhere, scanning the numbers on all the doors in search for the 310 that marks where his lab is taking place. 

“I watched yer stream last night, actually.” Atsumu tilts his head up. He’s not focused on locating his classroom at all, which makes Sakusa wonder why he was in such a hurry to begin with. He’s really regretting sticking around to hold the door open. “It was hilarious.”

“Thanks,” Sakusa mutters. He doesn’t know how to respond to direct praise. He’s never been good at it. It’s why he ignored all of those times when Komori complimented him for his abilities. He’s never sure what to make of a compliment. 

“You and Sunarin are always hilarious together, though,” Atsumu says. It’s always a surprise when someone addresses Suna by his nickname: ‘Sunarin.’ His channel name isn’t a play-on-words like Sakusa’s. It’s quite simple in comparison—Sunarin. His most common nickname. “I always like those streams best, ya know. You seem much more relaxed in them—like you’re less worried about what the audience thinks. I mean, Sunarin looks like he doesn’t care at all whether the audience enjoys the stream so long as he’s havin’ fun, and I think his energy rubs off on you a little bit.”

That makes Sakusa look over at Atsumu. He’s aware that he’s much more talkative when he and Suna stream together, but the in-depth analysis into his character is unexpected to say the least. He’s seen the comments whenever Suna is absent— _Where’s Sunarin? Are you going to play with him again soon? Will he be part of the next stream?_ But he has never thought that the viewers noticed how at ease he felt with Suna’s added presence. He always assumed those comments came down to the simple act of missing Suna’s antics.

“Oh. Really?”

“Yeah.” Atsumu’s eyes flit over to him, and his lip quirks up a bit. “My brother’s the reason I started watchin’ yer streams. He knows Suna. Vaguely. They’re in the same class together or some shit. I caught him watching Sunarin while cookin’ dinner once, and you were playin’ with Suna. So I looked you up a little later.” He pauses. “Shit, I sound so creepy right now. I didn’t mean it! I just—I just meant—”

Sakusa blinks. He’s more surprised that someone like Atsumu—who looks like he has tons of friends and very little free time—would set aside any time to watch one of his streams. “It’s fine.” 

“Oh. Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” 

Finally— _finally_ —Sakusa spots the door for Lab Room 310, and a quick glance at his phone tells him that he’s two minutes late. Shit. 

Sakusa looks over at Atsumu. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

Atsumu blinks. It’s slow and steady, and for some reason, it makes Sakusa feel as though he’s said something stupid. “Uh, this is my class, too. I’m takin’ this lab.”

Oh. So he has said something stupid. His tongue feels so much heavier in his mouth. “Right. Okay.”

Instead of addressing that blunder of his, Sakusa walks into another bubble of embarrassment instead as he shoves the door open and walks into the classroom to a collection of wide-eyed stares from the rest of his classmates. The brunt of this embarrassment is lessened as Atsumu walks in right behind him. It’s easier for two late students to come in rather than one, after all. 

There are two TAs standing behind the front desk, and their combined looks of mild irritation at the fact that they’re two minutes late is enough to make Sakusa want to melt into the floor. He recognizes one of them: Ojiro Aran, the star ace of their university volleyball team, who somehow manages to get good grades on top of being a national-level spiker. The other is unfamiliar, but his black-and-white hair and level gaze set him apart. Those eyes of his follow Sakusa and Atsumu as they enter the room, and even though he’s shorter and smaller than Aran, Sakusa decides that he’d rather piss Aran off than this TA. 

“Seriously, Atsumu?” Aran raises one eyebrow. 

“Sorry.” Atsumu scratches the nape of his neck, looking bashful. “Won’t happen again.”

“Yeah, right.” Aran points over at Kita, and Kita gathers up a set of papers and holds one out for each of them. Sakusa takes it and scans it briefly. It’s the syllabus for the course. He already knows what to expect. He looked it up online beforehand, but it’s nice to have a physical copy. “You showed up late cuz you knew that I’m yer TA.”

Atsumu lets out an exaggerated gasp as he takes the paper from Kita. “I would never, Aran-kun.”

“Atsumu,” Kita says, an edge to his voice that makes Sakusa stiffen. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Atsumu lift his head. Kita levels him with a hard look. “Don’t let it happen again.”

Although Kita doesn’t raise his voice at all, he doesn’t have to. The command is implicit, and Sakusa thinks he sees Atsumu gulp. Satisfied, Kita returns to the front of the room and gestures at the two remaining seats. They’re both at the same lab table, right across from each other, and Sakusa hurries over. His backpack falls to the floor in a heap before he kicks it beneath and slides onto his seat. Atsumu does the same, his steps a little quicker after the reprimand from Kita, and he mirrors Sakusa’s position.

“As we were sayin’,” Aran says, continuing from where he left off. 

The introduction class is brief. It’s mostly a detailed guide into the syllabus, explaining some of the finer details. Even with his addled mind, Sakusa marks off the important dates and assignments with a set of colorful highlighters and pens. He knows this lab is a requirement for him to graduate. He’s not going to skive it off for the sake of laziness. He’ll do it right. 

After going through the syllabus, Kita explains the importance of lab safety. He describes each equipment they’ll use and the precautions to take. He states what should be done in case of an emergency. He mentions that no food or drinks will ever be allowed inside, and at that, Aran glowers at Atsumu. Atsumu shrinks back from the force of his gaze. 

But after that, there’s not much of a reason to keep them around longer. This is the introduction session. Next week, the real labs will begin. As soon as Aran gives them the nod to depart, everyone starts filing out of the room. Aran shuts down the computer while Kita organizes the remaining sets of syllabi. Meanwhile, Sakusa pulls his backpack out from under the table and pulls on the straps. 

He’s on his way out when Atsumu sticks by his side again. “Hey.”

Sakusa gives him a strange look. “Yes?”

“Are you streamin’ tonight? No pressure or anythin’. Just wonderin’.”

Truth be told, Sakusa had planned on doing another. This one would be shorter than last night’s. He wants to continue with the momentum he has before assignments begin to pile up and his coursework demands more from him. “Uh,” he says, adjusting the straps to his backpack. “Yeah.”

“Cool.” Atsumu nods.

The two continue walking until they reach the end of the hall, and now, the rest of their classmates start to disperse. Some head up to the higher floors, while others aim to exit the building on the ground level. The rhythmic pounding of shoes against the stairwell echoes against his ears as he holds the door open—yet again—for Atsumu.

Atsumu gives him a grateful smile, and it’s so genuine that Sakusa is taken aback. For some reason, it possesses him to ask a question he’s never bothered to pose to someone before. “Uh, do you have a special request?”

Atsumu does a double take before his lips split into the widest grin Sakusa has ever seen. “Really?”

Sakusa shrugs. If he’s played it before, he doesn’t see why he can’t play it again. 

Atsumu takes this question with a lot of solemnity. He debates it for a long time, not giving Sakusa an answer until they reach the ground floor and they’re back at the same door they entered from. When Sakusa reaches for the door, Atsumu finally exclaims, “Animal Crossing!”

Sakusa’s eyebrows are raised high. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu says. “If that’s okay. I find it real relaxin’. It’s easy to put on in the background while doin’ homework.”

“You probably should be doing homework when you’re doing homework.”

Atsumu waves him off with a flap of the hand. “Yeah, yeah. Wouldja do it?”

Sakusa mulls it over. He hasn’t played Animal Crossing in a while—mostly because, like anything else, games come into and fall out of popularity with time. He tries not to follow these trends, but he notices the higher levels of engagements when he plays something that’s being promoted online across social media platforms. That makes him more inclined to play what’s interesting to his audience at the moment. But—he has been meaning to redo a large chunk of his island. 

“Sure,” Sakusa says.

He turns around before Atsumu can say anything else, but the outcry of joy behind him is hard to miss. 

He streams Animal Crossing that night. And again the night after. 

* * *

But Sakusa doesn’t notice Atsumu directly until another stream later on in the week, a few days after their lab. It’s Friday evening, and instead of going out with friends—or whatever it is that college students do on a weekend—Sakusa is burrowed in the safety of his apartment. He’s not alone. Suna’s here, too. And he’s always found more joy behind the screen of a terrifying game than from forcing himself through tedious conversation with strangers and pretending to enjoy the bitterness of alcohol. 

Dead By Daylight is a terrifying game in which there are four survivors all aiming to get five generators running in order to escape the hell they’re stuck in. Unfortunately, there happens to be another player as a killer who aims to eliminate them by hanging them on hooks. It’s not the scariest game Sakusa has played, but there’s a tension that sticks in the air as he waits for the moment when he’s inevitably caught by the killer. He can’t hear the other survivors. He can only hear Suna because they’re in the same call.

This doesn’t bring him much relief. The last time they played Dead By Daylight together, Suna decided to leave him for dead on the hook because he thought it would be funny, and he had laughed about it for a solid week afterwards. But tonight, Suna has been concentrated, which makes things easier since their teammates are terrible. 

“FunkyWeasel just got put on the hook,” Suna says. “Uh, should I go get him or should I leave him for dead?”

“You should go get him,” Sakusa says. On the screen, his character is kneeling at a generator, trying his best to get it up and running again. Suna is somewhere on the other side of the map. “It would be the nice thing to do.”

“Ugh,” Suna mutters. “Fine.”

As soon as Suna does his part as a team player, the last generator lights up, meaning that they’re allowed to exit the map. Of course, this is the part of the match where the stakes are the most high, as the killer’s focus increases in their attempt to get another kill. One of their teammates has already died. (It was not Sakusa’s fault.) It would be all too easy for the killer to snatch another at the last second. 

Sakusa’s character heads towards the exit in order to pull the lever, and as he watches the timer go down until it opens, Suna comes over to him. He makes his character crouch and stand rapidly, so he’s bobbing up and down on the screen. 

“Open it quicker,” Suna demands, even though he knows it’s impossible to do so.

“Shut up.”

“They’re coming.”

Sure enough, there’s a revving of a chainsaw in the distance, and the timer finishes just as the killer comes into view. This particular killer has a quick sprint and a chainsaw that can force the survivors to fall in one go, rather than the usual two hits. The one disadvantage is that the killer can only move in a straight line once the chainsaw starts being used. Therefore, their aim must be spot on in order to knock someone down. Unfortunately—or fortunately, in the case of the killer—Suna is being too careless. The killer knocks him down with the chainsaw, and Suna makes a strangled noise over the line.

“Why didn’t you move?” Sakusa demands. The gate slides open, but Sakusa can’t leave yet. The aim of the game is to get as many people out as possible. And it’s not like he’ll leave Suna behind, even if this is all because of Suna’s idiocy. “You heard him coming!”

“I thought you were going to be my meat shield,” Suna says, and Sakusa watches as his character gets lifted up by the killer to be put on a hook to die. “I thought you would be a good friend and dive in front of me and take the hit. I see how much our friendship is worth to you now.”

“ _Huh_?” Sakusa races after the killer, still holding Suna. Suna has a certain frame of time in which he can spam the keyboard in order to wiggle free, but there’s usually not enough distance for it to be successful. “Why would I do that?”

“To save me. Duh.”

“But I thought you would _move._ ”

“I can’t wiggle free,” Suna says then. “Damn it.”

“It’s fine.” Sakusa spots a wooden pallet ahead of them. If he can manage to pull it down over the killer while they’re holding Suna, the killer will be forced to release him. “I got it.”

Sakusa sprints forward and waits for the right moment. The killer spots him and tries to swing, but Sakusa steps back, drawing him closer. As soon as the killer comes into range of the wooden pallet, Sakusa drops it, and the killer lets Suna fall in return. 

“You’re such an idiot, Suna,” Sakusa remarks as they run for the exit. Suna’s character is wounded and limps forward. Sakusa runs behind Suna in case he needs to take the hit. He supposes he doesn’t mind being a meat shield now.

“I did it for the meme,” Suna says. 

Sakusa glances downward to ensure that the other player has escaped, and then, the two are free to go. The killer follows them, their chainsaw singing, but it’s a fruitless attempt as he and Suna survive. The result slides across the screen: SURVIVED. And he smiles to himself, all pleased.

“That was an easy one,” Suna comments. Sakusa agrees. He can’t even fault Suna for purposely being a moron at the end, if only to spice the gameplay up. The footage that they had of the match up until that point hadn’t been exciting. “We need harder killers.”

“Mmhmm,” Sakusa hums. As their statistics from the match pop up, his gaze slides over to the side to his other monitor where he can see the chat that is linked to his screen. There is a separate window filled with superchats that are organized based on donations for his streams, and he always ensures that he reads those out loud. It’s the least he can do—if people are willing to offer him money for his work. He doesn’t like letting them build up, otherwise they take too long to read. “I’m going to mute myself to read the chat. Give me a few minutes. Hop back into the lobby.”

“Sure.”

With that, Sakusa mutes himself in the voice call with Suna and redirects his attention over to the chat. He starts by reading out the superchats, speaking clearly and enunciating each username as best as he can. There are always a few trolls, like the occasional anonymous people behind **Han_Jobbs** or **Hugh G. Rection** , but he’s too clever to fall for those. Once he’s done reading out the superchats, he returns back to the normal chat, the activity high now that he’s actively looking at it. 

To his surprise, there’s a username that catches his eye, and he slows down the speed of the chat in order to scroll back up and read it properly. 

> **settermiya** you looked so exasperated with sunarin it made me laugh sm omi-kun!!!!

For some reason, his breath catches, and he stares at the message a little longer. Maybe a little too long. By now, he’s sure some people watching think that he’s frozen, especially as he isn’t reading out any other comments. 

It has to be Atsumu. 

There’s no one else it could be. Unless Atsumu has another family member or a twin that Sakusa doesn’t know about. That would be ironic. 

And—the _nickname_. He can’t remember if Atsumu ever addressed him by name during their conversation on their way to their lab class, but he would have remembered if Atsumu ever called him _Omi-kun._ He supposes it _is_ better than releasing his actual full name on the Internet. He’s not Suna. He likes some semblance of privacy. 

He feels like he has to respond. It’s rude not to. How else is he going to be able to look Atsumu in the eye when it’s time for their weekly lab class? 

Sakusa clears his throat. Then, he mumbles, “Hi, Atsumu.”

That’s enough to set the chat off in a series of question marks and confusion, and Sakusa doesn’t heed them any longer. He returns his attention back to his other monitor, unmutes himself, and readjusts his headset.

“Okay, I’m back,” he says to Suna, who grunts in acknowledgement. “Let’s go again.”

* * *

Atsumu becomes a constant presence in his chats from there on out. It’s like he held himself back before out of fear of appearing too brazen, but now that he has direct acknowledgement from Sakusa—almost like Sakusa has given him permission—he is no longer cautious. He drops comments in the chat constantly, regardless of whether Sakusa sees them or not, and he even donates sometimes. This does irk Sakusa a bit. He knows Atsumu is a college student, the same as him, and he doesn’t want Atsumu putting aside money that could go for his weekly grocery hauls for his streams. 

Sakusa brings it up to him during their second lab: the first proper one of the semester. 

He’d arrived ten minutes earlier than the designated time, just to leave a better impression on Aran and Kita this time around, and to his shock, Atsumu was already there. If Sakusa had to guess, he’d say that Kita’s warning had made its mark. Atsumu was punctual and organized from now on. 

Their seats are the same ones from the first class: their permanent spots until the end of the semester. Aran starts out with a brief introduction to the work they’ll do today while Kita hands out instructions and a packet for them to record their results. As soon as everything is made clear, the students are left to their own devices, and Sakusa scans the instructions again before reaching for one of the samples Aran left in the middle of their table.

Atsumu has already taken a sample of a living, breathing bug, and he’s inspecting it under his microscope with his lips parted in childish wonder. He plays around with the adjustment until the image is clear. 

Sakusa reaches for a safer option: dragonfly wings. He rests the sample on the stage and clips it in. 

“You know,” Sakusa mutters under his breath as he peers into the ocular lens. The image isn’t clear. His fingers fumble for the adjustment. “You don’t have to donate for me to notice you in the chat. I’ll look for your username. Don’t waste your money on me.”

Atsumu peels his face back from his own ocular lens. “Oh. Sorry. I just didn’t want anyone in the chat thinkin’ you were givin’ me special treatment.”

Sakusa pauses. He does make a fair point. But still. “It’s fine,” he says. “I don’t care. Save that money for—I dunno, booze or food or textbooks or something.”

Atsumu snickers as he scribbles something down on his packet. At first, Sakusa thinks that he’s ahead. But then he notices Aran’s shadow fall over the table as he wanders around, and his gaze lingers on Atsumu a little longer, as if to make sure that Atsumu is being productive and not messing around. As soon as he slips past, Atsumu drops his pencil with a sigh of relief.

“Do you know Ojiro-san?” Sakusa asks. 

“Aran-kun? Yeah. We’re on the same volleyball team together.”

Sakusa lifts his head up at that. He knew that Aran played for their university. Yet, even though he had pegged Atsumu as a student athlete, he never considered that he played on the university’s volleyball team. “Oh. That’s...cool. What position?”

Atsumu gives him a funny look. “Setter.” A pause. “Didja think my username was random?”

Oh. Now Sakusa feels like an idiot. “Oh.”

“It’s fine.” Atsumu waves him off, but he happens to do it while picking up his pencil, and his grip loosens. The pencil flies out of his hand and smacks Sakusa in the face. “Oh, shit.”

Sakusa lets loose a deep sigh and rubs at the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry, Omi-kun.”

“It’s fine.” Sakusa hands the pencil back, ignoring how Atsumu’s fingers brush against his, and he smacks a palm against Atsumu’s lab report. “As long as you let me copy the notes you took about the fucking bug sample, we’re good. I don’t want to go near that thing.”

Atsumu grins. “Deal!” He slides his report forward, and Sakusa waits for the moment Aran’s back is turned to make something out of Atsumu’s notes.

* * *

In the middle of the week, the dining hall is packed full of students. The lights blare bright from overhead, reflecting on the numerous heads hunched over their schoolwork and their laptops while eating their dinners at the same time, and the clatter of trays against the table is enough to grate against his eardrums. The bubble of chatter only strengths the more time goes on, and for the second time tonight, Sakusa wishes that he and Suna had remembered to go grocery shopping. Whatever they concocted in their kitchen would be better than dining hall food. Well. Maybe just barely. 

Suna sits across from him, wearing a worn and faded graphic tee, slouched over as he eats his ramen. Every so often, he slurps loudly, earning another glare from Sakusa’s end. The shadows beneath his eyes look darker today. It’s starting to concern Sakusa. He knows he’s not one to talk. If he looked in the mirror right now, it would be obvious that his own sleep schedule is skewed, to say the least. But Suna isn’t like Sakusa. He is more prone to neglecting his health, even if his body is screaming at him. If it gets worse, Sakusa will have to say something. 

Meanwhile, Sakusa has his own bowl of ramen in front of him, but unlike Suna, he takes his time eating. His manners are impeccable, even under the influence of Suna’s terrible habits. It sits nicely in his stomach, warm and fulfilling after a long day of classes. He’s meant to stream tonight, but he has an assignment that he wants to get done tomorrow morning. He wants to end earlier so that he can wake up earlier. 

“So,” Suna says, making another series of obnoxious slurping noises. “Who’s Atsumu?”

The name makes Sakusa still. “Who?”

“You know who I’m talking about,” Suna says. “Don’t lie. Settermiya. The guy in your chat all the time.”

“Oh.” The nonchalance in his voice sounds forced—even to him. “He’s some guy that I have lab with. I don’t know if you know him. Miya Atsumu. He—”

“He’s the setter for our university’s volleyball team,” Suna finishes. At Sakusa’s astonished look, he continues. “I _am_ aware of who he is, now that you mention it.” 

“Oh. Didn’t realize he was that popular.”

“Yeah.” Suna takes a moment to chew. “He’s really popular, actually. He’s got tons of followers on all of his social media. From what I hear, he’s pretty good at volleyball, too.” Suna shrugs. “I only found out about him recently. His twin brother is in my class.”

Sakusa recalls Atsumu mentioning that he had a brother—that his brother had indirectly averted Atsumu’s attention onto Sakusa’s content in the first place. If he remembers correctly, that same brother is an avid watcher of Suna’s streams. Sakusa opens his mouth, then clamps it shut. When he opens it again, he blurts out, “I didn’t know he had a twin.”

“Yeah,” Suna says. “They’re identical. You can tell them apart by the hair. Atsumu’s blonde; Osamu’s hair is dark. Natural.” He considers this further. “I’d say Osamu’s a little calmer, too. But not really. Anyway, that’s surprising.”

“What is?” Sakusa takes another serving of noodles. 

“That Atsumu watches your streams.” Suna raises an eyebrow, in a way that makes Sakusa feel like a punchline to a joke. It makes Suna appear as though he’s on another level of intelligence. It’s ironic since Suna scrapes by in all of his classes with barely passing grades. “He just doesn’t seem like the type of guy who’d find our stuff entertaining.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess. I see that.” Sakusa shrugs. If he’s being honest, he shares the same sentiment. He doesn’t know what someone like Atsumu—who has a packed schedule between practices and matches and a boatload of friends to hang out with—is doing spending his evenings watching Sakusa play video games. “I don’t know.”

“Hm.” Suna sniffs. “He probably likes you.”

The sentence is enough to make Sakusa’s hand smack his bowl by accident, and a few droplets of broth spill out onto the table. There’s a splash against Sakusa’s sleeve as he rights the bowl again. Thankfully, the ramen inside is intact, even if his sleeve is wet now. He reaches for a napkin to mop up the mess. “He does not.”

“Why not?” Suna’s eyebrows lift, and again, Sakusa feels like he’s on the outside looking in—like he’s missing something vital. “He might think you’re cute.”

“I—” Sakusa sputters. “That’s ridiculous.”

Suna shrugs, but says nothing else.

“He _doesn’t_ like me.”

“Fine. He doesn’t like you.”

“Thank you.” Sakusa wipes the surface of the table until it is dry again, and he arranges the napkin where he would remember to throw it out before leaving. 

A few seconds pass, and Sakusa thinks it’s a figment of his imagination when Suna mutters, “He definitely thinks you’re hot.”

“Shut _up_ , Suna.”

“I’m being honest,” Suna says, slurping again.

“You’re never honest.”

“Yeah, because you never appreciate the times when I am.” Suna hums before taking a sip of his soda. When he sets the glass down again, it lands with a sharp jolt. “So what if he thinks you’re hot? You haven’t been in a relationship since I’ve met you. Not a serious one, anyway. Go for it. Shoot your shot. Get laid.”

Sakusa levels him with a hard look. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“So you don’t think he’s hot, too?” Suna asks.

Sakusa dips his head, suddenly focused on the contents of his bowl. “That’s not the issue here.”

“So you do think he’s hot,” Suna says. He leans back in his seat, a devious smirk curling his lips, and Sakusa hates it. He hates this look on Suna. It’s the same look Suna makes whenever he wins a game or whenever he throws someone’s laundry out of the laundry machine (if they haven’t come to collect it in time) or whenever he puts an empty carton of milk back in the fridge. It’s his _up-to-no-good_ look, and it’s never a good sign. Suna stirs up the most trouble with this look. Sakusa likes to be out of range whenever this happens, but this time, it looks like he’s in the eye of the storm. “Interesting.”

“Don’t do anything about it, Suna,” Sakusa orders, an edge to his voice. “I mean it.”

“Fine, fine,” Suna murmurs. Sakusa isn’t entirely convinced he means it. “I won’t do anything. You’re on your own for this one.”

“Thanks,” Sakusa says. “So what are we playing tonight?”

* * *

Suna is a liar. He’s a liar and a manipulative son of a bitch. But his words dig beneath Sakusa’s skull, burrowing in too deep until it’s all he can fixate on. It consumes enough of his thinking that he can’t bring himself to focus on a demanding game. Instead, he reverts back to Animal Crossing, and while his audience doesn’t mind, Sakusa feels like he’s in a daze. Even as he goes about his daily tasks and continues fixing up one side of his island, his movements are robotic, and he doesn’t notice how much time has passed until a familiar name in the chat catches his attention.

> **settermiya** you should go to sleep omi-omi!!!!! it’s three in the morning!!!!! we have lab tomorrow!!!!!

It can’t be three in the morning. Last time he checked, it was just after midnight. But sure enough, as his eyes flit towards his clock, it is—in fact—just past three. 

Usually at this time, exhaustion would start setting in. His body would shut down, conditioned to follow its own internal clock, and his yawns would become noticeable. Maybe he has yawned a few times. Maybe a few too many times—and he’s ignored it for the sake of continuing. And it’s possible that his internal clock may be a bit messed up due to the number of late nights. Now that he thinks about how tired he should be, the thoughts seem to stir up the weariness that had been absent before. Sakusa slumps over in his chair as a yawn overcomes him. 

“You’re awake, too, Atsumu,” Sakusa says out loud, addressing Atsumu in the chat. 

Over the past few streams, the rest of his viewers have noticed Atsumu’s continuous presence. Some have commented on it. Most have ignored it. But as he says Atsumu’s name, the engagement flares up, and Sakusa waits for Atsumu’s inevitable reply. It comes a few seconds later.

> **settermiya** because you’re awake?????? someone’s got to look out for you!!!! go to sleep!!!! im not leaving until you turn off the stream

Sakusa sighs, because he knows Atsumu is being honest. He should berate Atsumu for this. But he doesn’t. 

Another series of comments come in from the rest of the viewers lurking in the chat, and a large majority of them agree with Atsumu. 

“Fine,” Sakusa mumbles. “I’ll turn it off. Go to bed, Atsumu.”

He waits—

> **settermiya** good night omi-kun!!!! see you tomorrow!!!!

“Good night,” Sakusa says. He clears his throat and speaks a little louder as he addresses the entire chat—and not just Atsumu. “I’m heading off, everyone. I have class tomorrow. I don’t know if I’ll stream again tomorrow. It depends. I’ll tweet if I decide to.”

A chorus of _good night_ ’s and _sleep well_ ’s run through the chat, and Sakusa offers a smile, though it’s lined with weariness. 

One last time, Sakusa says, “Good night, Atsumu. See you tomorrow.” The stream is shut down a moment later, and exhaustion crashes over him. 

* * *

He should have gone to bed earlier. This is the only coherent thought running through his mind as Sakusa slumps over the table. His eyes feel strained from staring at a screen for hours on end last night, and every movement he makes is delayed and slow. Exhaustion sits at the base of his spine, reminding him of how tired he is, and he can barely manage to watch Atsumu from across the table.

“I toldja to go to sleep earlier,” Atsumu chides him. “You shoulda listened to me.”

Sakusa lets out a grunt.

Atsumu is in the middle of balancing a pig’s heart in his hands, suited with thick rubber gloves as he turns it over and over to note all of the parts of the heart. Their lab reports today include marking down and noting the directions of blood flow as well as labeling the chambers. In order to do that, Kita marked down all the parts on an actual pig’s heart meant for study. It’s the only way they’ll learn how to finish their diagram. Unfortunately for Sakusa, there is no way in hell that he’s touching _that._

He gestured for Atsumu to go for it, and he’s spent the last twenty minutes making disgusted faces as Atsumu attempts to piece the correct labels. 

“You look fuckin’ exhausted,” Atsumu comments, even though his attention is fixed upon the heart in his grip. 

“Give me a break, Atsumu.” Sakusa leans forward in order to see what Atsumu has written down once he notices that Kita’s back is turned, and he scribbles down Atsumu’s haphazard notes onto his own report. “I didn’t notice the time.”

“You’ve been doin’ a lot more late streams this past month. It’s gonna have an effect on you sometime.”

“I can’t stream earlier. I have class. And then I have homework to do.” No matter how often he streams, he always ensures that he maintains a steady average in all of his classes. Even if he has to wake up a little earlier in order to finish last-minute work, he doesn’t mind doing so. He wants to graduate with a decent GPA. “So there’s no way around it.”

Atsumu raises an eyebrow. “Then make yer streams shorter.”

Sakusa can. Theoretically. “Maybe.”

“Samu says that Sunarin’s been lookin’ like shit these past few weeks.” He sends Sakusa a level look, which is always unsettling. Atsumu comes across as the kind of person who needs to be looked after—not the kind of person who looks after someone else. But in this sense, Sakusa feels like he’s being coddled. “Like he hasn’t slept properly in days. I wonder why, considerin’ the day before yesterday the two of ya played Among Us until two in the morning.”

Suna has been looking awful. His initial concern for Suna is starting to worsen. He’s going to have to intervene at some point, but he’s not sure it will be taken well. He thinks Suna will just call him a hypocrite. 

“Fine,” Sakusa says. “I’ll be more mindful about it.”

“You should.” Atsumu flips the heart on its other side. “Samu’s startin’ to get concerned.”

Sakusa’s brows lift at that. He knows that Osamu—Atsumu’s twin brother—and Suna share a class together, but he never had the impression that they were more than acquaintances. He’s surprised that Osamu would notice Suna’s slow deterioration. “Oh.” He pauses. “We’ll be better about it.”

Atsumu’s gaze is ridden with doubt. “Sure.”

“You need to stop lurking in my chat so late, too.”

“Someone’s gotta look out for you, Omi-kun.” 

A shadow falls over their table as Kita peers over Sakusa’s shoulder, and Sakusa stiffens on instinct. It’s obvious to any outsider that Atsumu is doing all the work. Sakusa is doing jack _shit_. “How are you both doin’?” Kita asks. It’s a simple question. Polite. But it sends fear into Sakusa’s own heart like a sharp stake. 

“Kita-san.” Atsumu draws Kita’s attention away from Sakusa and over to him. “I’m not sure if I’m pickin’ out the difference between the pulmonary veins and the pulmonary arteries. Is this right?”

Kita, as diligent as ever, takes the heart from Atsumu’s hands and uses his gloved fingers to point out the differences. This explanation seems to satisfy Atsumu, who marks it down on his paper. Sakusa waits a few seconds before writing it down, too, and Kita scans over Atsumu’s diagram as he puts the heart back into the plastic tub it’s been sitting in when no one is handling it. 

“You’re doin’ good,” Kita murmurs. “Nice job, you two.”

“Thanks, Kita-san,” Atsumu says cheerfully. He bends over his report and starts filling out the extra details he didn’t get the chance to mark while inspecting the heart in greater detail. 

“Thanks, Kita-san,” Sakusa mumbles under his breath.

Kita nods and continues on to some of the other tables, and Sakusa’s body sags in relief when he’s no longer hovering over their shoulders. 

“You don’t hafta be so scared of him,” Atsumu says without looking up. When he’s finished with his diagram, he sweeps his gaze across the room, notices that Aran is busy helping another student whose hair vaguely resembles that of a rooster, and slides his notes across to Sakusa. “Kita-san is quite intimidatin’, but he’s actually really nice.”

Sure, Kita is nice. He’s polite and well-mannered, but it’s different interacting with Kita from a friendly perspective to the one Sakusa occupies now, where Kita could fail him if he thought Sakusa wasn’t up to par. 

“He always comes to all of our matches,” Atsumu continues while Sakusa copies down what he’s written. “He always compliments the whole team.” A cheeky grin splits his face. “But he saves the most praise for Aran-kun, of course.”

“Of course,” Sakusa echoes without really thinking about it. Then he pauses. Oh. “Oh.”

“Mmhmm,” Atsumu hums. He leans forward a little more, partly to ensure that Sakusa can read his messy handwriting. The closer he gets, the more Sakusa can pick out the flecks in his brown eyes. “Are you streamin’ tonight?”

Sakusa had considered it. But the more time goes on, the more exhaustion clings to his bones, and it seems like less and less of a good idea. He can afford a break. His audience might be a little disappointed, but they would understand. “I don’t think so.”

“Good,” Atsumu says. His finger taps one of the labels Sakusa forgot to mark off, and Sakusa corrects his mistake. “You need a break. Otherwise you’ll burn out.”

Secretly, Sakusa agrees with him.

* * *

But agreeing with someone in theory and agreeing with someone in practice are not the same thing. Two days later, he’s back on another stream. This time, he has Suna on the call. It should be a more relaxed version, and he has his phone set in front of him so that he can check the time more often. He doesn’t want to let it go on too late.

But Sakusa doubts that it will. Because with Suna’s idea, they’re going to wind up falling asleep at their desks. 

Geoguessr is a game that incorporates Google Maps in order to drop you in a random location around the world. Their battle royale mode allows players to face off against each other and determine which country they’ve landed in so they can make it to the next round. It’s difficult to get the hang of, but once you start recognizing flags and urls, the experience guides you forward—which is probably why Suna proposed a twist in order to make it interesting. 

Sakusa has agreed to it. He’s no better. If he wins the whole match, Suna has to do a half-shot. If Suna wins the whole match, Sakusa has to do a half-shot. There’s a shot glass arranged right next to his phone beside a bottle of whiskey that he’s opened very few times. There’s a hum of anticipation in his chest as he opens up his stream and loads up the game. He knows this isn’t going to end well. It’s almost guaranteed to end in a disaster. Both he and Suna are ridiculously competitive when it comes to Geoguessr, and even if their lobby is filled with random participants who have as much of a chance of winning each match as they do, they’re going to wind up tipsy regardless.

Sakusa has no idea why he’s agreed to this.

“Okay,” Suna says. “Are you ready?”

“So we’re doing half-shots.”

Suna is mumbling under his breath as he starts the game on his end, and Sakusa worries that Suna hasn’t heard him right.

“ _Half-shots_ , Suna,” Sakusa repeats.

There’s a shuffle on the other end before Suna asks, “You want me to drop the link in the chat?”

“Uh, yes,” Sakusa says. He opens up his private chat with Suna and clicks on the lobby link that Suna set up. Of course, now that they’re broadcasting live, several viewers jump in on the fun, and within seconds, the rest of the slots in their lobby are occupied. “Okay. Ready.”

“Starting.”

The first few matches go well. Both of them win once, leaving the other to accept his punishment, and the liquor leaves behind a bitter taste on Sakusa’s tongue before they go again. The rest of their lobby is good, but it’s evident that he and Suna have the clear advantage. They’ve put hours into this game. Their experience shows. Suna is even more concentrated than usual, determined to get Sakusa tipsy as quickly as possible. 

When the game drops them in Senegal, Suna takes the win.

“Shit,” Sakusa says as he pours himself a half-shot. “How did you know?”

“You have to look up,” Suna explains. “The street view messed up when they stitched Senegal together. There’s a rift in the sky. It was pretty lucky.”

“Oh.” He learns something new every day, he supposes. He tips his head back and takes it down, shaking his head afterwards. “Fuck. Okay. Let’s go again.”

When it drops them in South Korea, Sakusa takes the win. He spins around in his chair, his mind addled with the alcohol he’s already drunk, and cackles as he listens to Suna sputter on his shot. 

“I knew it was South Korea, too,” Suna mutters. “I just wasn’t quick enough.”

“I’m hearing excuses, Sunarin.”

“Shut up.”

But when the game leaves them in Malta, it’s more of a race to see who can find the tiny island first. Sakusa is the one who scrolls quicker, and an uncontrollable shout leaves him when he’s the first to confirm his answer. 

“Hah!” he says. “I won.”

Suna lets out an aggrieved sigh, but Sakusa hears him pour the shot over the line. “This is unfair,” Suna says. “You can hold your liquor much better than I can. This is, like, my sixth shot.”

Wait— His stomach drops. “Suna, you are doing half-shots, right?”

There’s a weighted pause that comes between them. It takes a few seconds for Suna to answer before he mumbles, “What?”

“Suna.” Sakusa smacks his palms against the table. “We’re doing _half-shots_. We _agreed._ ”

“When did we agree on that?” Suna demands. There’s an accusatory note to his voice, but it comes more from frustration than genuine anger. “I don’t remember that.”

“I said we should do half-shots when you told me what you wanted to do,” Sakusa says, “and then I reminded you before we started. Fuck’s sake, Suna. You’re going to be hungover tomorrow. Don’t take this shot.”

There’s a noncommittal sound before he sputters, and Sakusa knows that he’s drunk it for the hell of it. Sakusa resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose as he listens to Suna mumble some incoherent words under his breath. 

“You’re an idiot,” Sakusa says. “An actual idiot.”

“Yeah, yeah.” There’s a crinkle over the line. “What else is new?”

Sakusa glances over at the clock that flashes across his phone screen. It’s eleven, and even though he would normally be able to go for another hour or so, he thinks of the promise he made to Atsumu. He doesn’t want to go overboard. He doesn’t want to burn out. Maybe avoiding that starts with these critical decisions: over when to push yourself more and when to recognize that you have to stop.

Besides, now that he knows Suna is absolutely fucking _sloshed_ , guilt sits at the pit of his stomach, messing with all the alcohol he’s consumed, and he doesn’t like the sensation. It’s starting to get to him. His reaction time is slower, and speaking requires more effort than before. 

“I think that’s it for me tonight,” Sakusa says, more to Suna than to his audience. He pauses, waiting for Suna’s response.

Instead of protesting, as he usually does, Suna agrees with him for once. “Yeah. I want to sleep this off.” 

“You should.”

“Mmm. I left my laundry downstairs in the machine, though.”

Sakusa winces. He doesn’t need to say anything else. Suna knows better than anyone that if he leaves his laundry there, it’ll be thrown in a messy pile in the corner of the room by the time he retrieves it in the morning. He knows better than anyone because, most of the time, Suna is the one doing it. “You should get that first. Then drink some water. And eat something.”

“Yeah,” Suna mumbles. “That sounds good.”

“Mmhmm.” Sakusa returns his attention over to his chat, searching for a familiar username that has become a constant over the past couple of weeks. But today, Atsumu is nowhere to be found. He might still be watching, but he isn’t providing input. “You go do that, Suna.”

“Yeah. Will do. I’m leaving the call.”

“Bye,” Sakusa says.

“Bye.” 

The call disconnects, and Sakusa takes the opportunity to address the last few remaining superchats he has left to read out. He can hear Suna head out of the apartment in the background, but he ignores it as the door slams shut. As soon as he’s finished, he says his goodbyes and turns off the stream. Once his screens fade, Sakusa turns around in his chair. His shot glass sits abandoned on his desk, the bottle of whiskey beside it, and Sakusa decides that he isn’t going to touch it again for a while. 

While he cleans up the mess he’s made, a message pings on his phone, and he reaches for it with clumsy hands. The brightness is hard for his eyes to adjust to, but as he squints, he picks out a contact name. 

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> hey omi-kun where do you live?
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Creep.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> SORRY
> 
> I HAVE A GENUINE REASON FOR ASKING
> 
> IM NOT TRYING TO BE CREEPY OMI

For some reason, Atsumu’s genuine concern that Sakusa finds him creepy sets him off. He laughs a bit, the kind of drunk giggle that might not happen under normal circumstances, but tonight is an exception. He types out the name to his apartment building and his room number, even if Atsumu hasn’t provided an actual explanation. 

Atsumu doesn’t respond, which turns Sakusa’s smile into a deep frown. His mood sours in an instant, and the reminder that Suna hasn’t returned from getting his laundry is enough to worsen it. He opens up another chat and sends Suna a message. 

> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Did you get lost??
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Dun worry bout it
> 
> **Sakusa Kiyoomi**
> 
> Huh

When Suna doesn’t grace him with a reply, his confusion transforms into worry, as it often does when Suna is cryptic with his responses. Usually, his one-word answers have to do with denying his involvement in some kind of trouble. But considering Suna is drunk, his generic response of irritation no longer fits. He’s worried about Suna. He tries to call Suna. The call rings, rings, rings—

The doorbell chimes, and Sakusa’s shoulders sag. That must be Suna. He forgot his keys. Again. 

But as he swings open the door, it’s not Suna that waits on the other side. It’s not Suna at all.

Atsumu stands there, his hair ruffled and disheveled from its usual neatness, and his outfit is even more casual than anything Sakusa has seen him in before. His sweatshirt has a large combee over the front, and his sweatpants drag against the floor as he shifts his weight. It takes a few seconds for Sakusa to process the takeout bag in his left hand.

“Atsumu,” Sakusa blurts out—because he doesn’t know where else to begin. “What are you doing here?”

“Aren’t you hungry?” Atsumu asks instead, holding out the bag. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I got McDonald’s.”

On cue, his stomach growls, and a flush works up his neck. Atsumu hears it, loud and clear, and he snickers. 

“How did you know I was awake?” Sakusa demands.

Atsumu gives him a strange look. “Because I was watchin’ yer stream?”

“You didn’t say anything, though,” Sakusa says, and there’s an accusatory note to his voice. Atsumu’s absence might’ve bothered him more than he let on. But that would be unreasonable of him. Atsumu has other responsibilities. Other interests. It would be ludicrous if he was always present during Sakusa’s streams. “I didn’t know you were even watching.”

“I was.” Atsumu pushes the bag forward a little more. “I got a few chicken cheeseburgers and some fries.”

“Okay.” The smell of fried food drifts out of the bag, wafting towards Sakusa’s nose, and he thinks his mouth might water. This is exactly what he needed without realizing it. Some takeout to comfort him before he drifted off to sleep. Somehow, Atsumu had known. “How much do I owe you?”

Again, Atsumu gives him that weird look, like there’s something Sakusa doesn’t get. “You don’t owe me anythin’,” he says. “We’re friends. I’m just lookin’ out for ya.” He brings the bag closer to him and peers inside. “Maybe a few fries would be nice.”

Sakusa nods. That seems reasonable. That seems more than reasonable. He takes a step back so that Atsumu can enter his apartment. “Come in.”

Atsumu complies, his lips quirking upward, and as Sakusa’s eyes drop to his feet, he realizes Atsumu is already wearing slippers. 

“You—you went to McDonalds in _those_?” Sakusa demands as he shuts the door. He pulls out his phone again. Suna still hasn’t responded. His original worry has kicked up a few notches. 

“I didn’t,” Atsumu says. As he looks around the apartment Sakusa considers his home, Sakusa is grateful that the general living space is as tidy as he likes it. Suna contains his mess to his room, and Sakusa is given full reign to maintain the living room and kitchen as he prefers. It’s a balance that works for them. Even if the apartment is tiny, it’s theirs. Atsumu wanders further inside and drops the takeout bags on the table in the living room. “I went out in sneakers. Judgy.”

“I was just making sure.” Sakusa glances over at his phone again. “One sec, Atsumu. I need to call Suna. He’s being weird.”

“Oh.” Atsumu digs his hands into his pockets in search of something. “That reminds me. Suna is fine. Samu told me to tell ya that.”

“Huh?”

Atsumu fishes out his phone and waits for Sakusa to come closer to see the screen properly. There’s not much to it. It’s a poorly taken selfie of Suna and the carbon copy of Atsumu with dark hair. It’s blurry and too dark for Sakusa to pick much out. But Suna’s smile is loopy and loose, his tongue pressing against his teeth, and Osamu appears like a very unwilling participant in this picture, forced into it by Suna’s strong arm around his neck. 

It’s clear that this picture was taken today. Suna’s wearing the same clothes, and he can recognize the background as their downstairs laundry room. When he draws back, he says, “Your brother looks a lot...calmer than you.”

Atsumu scowls at that as he pockets his phone. “I brought you food, and this is how you repay me.” Atsumu starts unfolding the bag and taking several hand-wrapped burgers out to arrange them over the table. “Anyway, Samu said not to worry about Sunarin. I think Suna nearly passed out down there, so Samu just brought him to his apartment. He lives in this building, too. So you don’t hafta worry about him.”

“I always worry about Suna.” Suna is prone to being far too careless. For someone as precise as Sakusa, this is a cause for worry. “It’s a full-time job.”

“Well, don’t worry. Samu’s got it covered.” Atsumu draws out a few packages of fries. “Do you have somethin’ for us to drink?”

Sakusa heads into the kitchen to grab a handful of napkins—more for his own sake—and two bottles of Coca-Cola for each of them. When he returns, Atsumu has cleared the trash away, leaving a collection of burgers scattered across the surface, and a pile of fries sit between them. 

As soon as Sakusa pops the first fry in his mouth, crunching it between his teeth, Atsumu takes it as permission to dig in. He unwraps the first burger from the plastic, and he clutches it with his hands as he takes a hearty bite out of it. His cheeks puff up as he lets out a hum of appreciation, and Sakusa’s stomach clenches.

He’s not sure he can pin it down to hunger this time. 

“The stream was funny today,” Atsumu says after swallowing. “You and Suna competin’ is always hilarious. Everyone in his chat was goin’ nuts when they realized he was doin’ full shots. They tried warnin’ him in advance, but I don’t think he noticed.”

“We close our chats to play Geoguessr,” Sakusa says. His hand reaches for one of the burgers, and Atsumu slides it closer to him. “It keeps the game fair.”

“Makes sense. Still. He’s gotta be wasted.”

“He probably is.” Sakusa pauses. “Are you sure your brother is fine watching him?”

Atsumu waves him off. “Trust me. Osamu doesn’t mind.”

Suna is hard to handle when he’s sober, much less when he’s under the influence of alcohol. He’ll wake up hungover for sure. It’s a guarantee. If he doesn’t puke tonight, he might do it tomorrow morning. He’s not sure even he can bear to witness it. Sakusa doesn’t like any germs, and vomit always takes it a step too far. 

But Atsumu seems so certain that Osamu will be fine that Sakusa can’t help but believe him. Besides, Sakusa decides he likes seeing Atsumu like this, all earnest and endearing. He’s not sure what that says about him yet. 

But his stomach clenches all the same.

* * *

Suna returns the next morning as promised, his skin taking on a sickly parlor, the shadows prominent beneath his eyes. But there’s something different about him. There’s an imperceptible levity to his step, and as he heads into his bedroom to sleep the rest of the morning off, Sakusa wonders if Suna has been holding out on him.

But then again, Sakusa isn’t sure where he should begin explaining the warmth he feels whenever Atsumu is around. 

* * *

Their lab has been directed to one of the university’s greenhouses for today’s session. The splash of greenery is a nice view as he sweeps his gaze around the enclosed space, and the wetness that sticks in the air feels cool and refreshing. As he guides himself around the collection of plants, each labeled and marked with their own description, his lab packet clutched in his hands, his mind eases into a state of relaxation. Every so often, a nearby steam of water hits him in the face, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t welcome.

The only downside to this otherwise unique lab is that they’re meant to pick out a series of plants in each of the three greenhouses according to the descriptions their TAs provided, and the pressure of completing the assignment sucks a bit of enjoyment out of the experience. 

Atsumu hangs around him, his lab report held up to his chin as he peers over Sakusa’s shoulders in order to read the labels of each plant they drift past. Each step he makes is careful, but his sneakers splash in the puddles that collect on the floor of the greenhouses, and each time, his face screws up. His socks must be soaked through. Sakusa’s are. 

“Oh, look,” Atsumu says, pointing at one set of flowers. “I think this is the one in the fifth problem. See?”

Sakusa refers to his own lab packet, but as he’s come to realize, his grade in his biology lab is identical to Atsumu’s. Atsumu has carried him through this course. His cluelessness when it comes to the sciences has come out in full force, and he’s not sure what he would have done if Atsumu hadn’t been around to let him copy his notes and guide Sakusa along during their assignments. When it comes to reciting information from the textbook for their quizzes, Sakusa excels. When it comes to the physical parts, Atsumu does. 

“Oh,” Sakusa says. “Maybe.”

“I think it fits.” Atsumu’s lower lip juts out as he rereads the question. “I think I’m gonna write it down in case we don’t find another that would work.” He shoots Sakusa a pleading look. “Lemme use yer back.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes but turns around as Atsumu uses his back in order to scribble the scientific name for the plant. When he’s done, Sakusa steps away and continues leading the path through the greenhouse, slowing down whenever Atsumu stops to read a description more carefully.

“So,” Atsumu starts, catching up with him. “Are you streamin’ today?”

“Yes.” Sakusa would say he’s become more conscientious of a better balance between work, school, and relaxation. It’s hard not to when Atsumu’s constant reminders flood his phone. He’s grateful for the messages that urge him to grab a snack or get some sleep when he struggles to consider it himself. Atsumu is many things, but what has surprised Sakusa most is that he is observant. He knows when Sakusa has reached his limit. He knows when to snap Sakusa out of his momentum. “I don’t know what yet, though.”

He’s not sure if Suna will be up for something or whether it’ll be more of a solo stream tonight. Suna has been more aloof than usual lately, but Sakusa doesn’t think it’s a bad thing. Instead of looking like he’s withering away, the shadows beneath his eyes have faded, and the color has returned into his skin. He eats actual meals three times a day, rather than grabbing a granola bar and calling it ‘breakfast.’ He attends more classes, too, and Sakusa wonders what kind of epiphany Suna had if he’s going to his lectures of his own accord now. 

All in all, Suna has been looking better. It’s good. It’s a good change. Sakusa can’t claim any credit for it. The change in Suna’s attitude is all down to him, and Sakusa hadn’t needed to intervene as he’d feared. He had been halfway to calling Komori for assistance, but Suna had turned it around on his own. Well, almost on his own. 

Sakusa doesn’t want to admit it, but he thinks he’s gained a new sense of life as well. He’s more conscious of stopping his streams at the midnight mark, and his grades have improved with the combination of having a rested mind when attending classes. This is a good change, too. 

He’s never thought about all the ways he’s neglected looking after himself whenever he convinces himself that his daily routine is normal. He owes Atsumu a thank you—for snapping him out of a daze he didn’t know he was caught in. 

Sakusa looks sideways at him as they cross into another section of the greenhouse. This room is warm, dedicated to plants that thrive in hot temperatures, and the sticky residue that bubbles in the air makes the sweat cling to his skin even more. He wants to get out of here as soon as possible. Unfortunately, Aran seems to enjoy torturing them, because there are several problems that require their observation of this room in particular. 

“Any requests?” Sakusa asks, the same question he’s asked Atsumu multiple times since they’ve met. The answer isn’t always the same. Sometimes, it’s Mario Kart. Sometimes, it’s Geoguessr. More often than not, it’s Animal Crossing. Sakusa has had a renewed love for the game since learning of Atsumu’s enjoyment of it. 

“Hmm.” Atsumu stops to scan the collection of plants by the entrance. He leans forward, one tuft of blonde hair falling onto his forehead, and Sakusa resists the ridiculous urge to brush it aside. “Lemme think.”

“Sure.”

“Oh!” Atsumu points at one of the labels. “That’s the answer for question nine.” He turns around with a hopeful expression, and with a sigh, Sakusa leans so that Atsumu can use his back as a makeshift desk to write on. 

Sakusa has given up on writing the answers down himself. Atsumu will let him copy his answers later. 

“Done,” Atsumu says.

Sakusa straightens. 

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Sakusa scans the rest of this section of the greenhouse. There’s less greenery here. He can barely focus on the sight of these plants, nestled with spines. The air is boiling. He spots a few other stragglers from their lab, huddled around a plant in the far right corner, and he nudges Atsumu surreptitiously in their direction. “There.” 

“Good eye, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says.

They amble over to the far right corner, where the other students were hovering. Kuroo gives them a polite nod on their way out of the greenhouse, and Sakusa returns it while Atsumu studies the description of these plants more carefully. He’s so cautious about it, scanning it several times over to determine whether the notes match up with the clues left for them by their TAs, and Sakusa wonders if he would be this thorough if Sakusa wasn’t copying his answers.

“I think this is the answer for eleven,” Atsumu says, tapping the label of one short, stubby pot. “I’ll write it down.”

“Okay.” 

As Atsumu scribbles down the name, Sakusa pulls at the collar of his shirt. His neck feels damp by now, and it’s mildly uncomfortable. He hates it when he can sense his clothes sticking to him. He wants to escape this section as soon as possible. Once Atsumu finishes, Sakusa drags him out the exit on the other side, and the pair wander back through a section with much cooler air. 

A jet of mist slams both of them in the face, and Sakusa shakes his head of curls, all wet and unruly after soaking to the scalp. Meanwhile, Atsumu sputters behind him, running his hand through his hair in a fruitless attempt to tame it. 

It takes them another hour to finish filling out the rest of the lab report. When all of their answers have been accounted for, the sun is sinking in the sky, a welcome sight after being cooped behind glass for two hours. It’s a refreshing sight as the breeze brushes against them, ruffling their hair, still wet from walking through the mist. Atsumu leads the way, his backpack arranged on his back, tapping his pencil against his thigh. Sakusa follows behind, his lab report filled out and completed—thanks to Atsumu.

His socks are soaked, and his sneakers make squelching sounds whenever he takes a step. His clothes feel more like a second skin than an actual layer, and he’s dreading returning back to his apartment and cooking himself something for dinner, his limbs seeped with exhaustion.

“Animal Crossing,” Atsumu says all of a sudden.

“Huh?”

Atsumu looks over his shoulder at Sakusa, and for a second, Sakusa’s breath catches in his throat. He’s not sure how to describe it. He didn’t know how to explain his emotions when Atsumu showed up on his doorstep in slippers—or any of the subsequent times after that when he continued to do so. But he knows the feeling that he gets when seeing Atsumu like this well. He’s familiar with the swoop of his stomach and the stutter of his own heart. He likes Atsumu like this, all unkempt and ruffled. 

“Animal Crossing,” Atsumu repeats. “You should play it.”

“Oh.” Sakusa nods. He can do that. He hasn’t played it in a while. His viewers will enjoy an update on his island. “Alright. Sounds good.”

Atsumu watches him a second longer, like there are words caught in his throat.

“Atsumu?”

“Can I play, too?” Atsumu asks, and Sakusa wonders if he’s imagining the red flush to Atsumu’s cheeks. “Uh, I mean, I won’t if you don’t want me to. But, uh, I have a switch, so I can sit in the other room of yer apartment, and we can visit each other’s islands. If—if that sounds like fun.”

Sakusa blinks. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh. Right. Well—”

“I mean,” Sakusa amends, “you don’t have to sit in the other room. You can sit on my bed.” Part of him can’t believe the offer that he’s extending right now. He never lets people lie down on his bed. He can’t control where they’ve been beforehand. The couch in the living room is available, but he rarely allows people into his room. “Or—you can sit at my desk with me. Whatever’s more comfortable for you.”

Atsumu’s eyebrows lift. His expression is blank until it’s replaced with a bright beam. “Right!” he says cheerfully. “That sounds good. What time should I be over?”

“You can come over for dinner.” 

“Really?”

“I just said you could, didn’t I?”

Atsumu nods eagerly, and if Sakusa knew that such a simple invitation would excite him this much, he would’ve done it weeks ago. Atsumu has been over to his apartment countless times, but for some reason, Sakusa has never considered Atsumu joining him on one of his streams—or breaching his line of comfort. It doesn’t terrify him as much as it should.

“Are you gonna make me somethin’ to eat?”

“Yeah.” It’s Sakusa’s turn to give Atsumu a weird look. “Did you think I would invite you over to watch me eat while you starve?”

“I was just makin’ sure!”

Atsumu laughs and starts to turn around, and for some reason, Sakusa’s chest tightens. His heart squeezes, a sharp pulse, and before he overthinks it, he pushes his face up close to Atsumu’s. He hears the strangled noise Atsumu makes, deep in his throat. He watches the flecks in his eyes, gleaming from this proximity. He looks for any sign of discomfort, but Atsumu appears more startled than anything else. It’s this fact that spurs him forward, and he presses his mouth against Atsumu’s, his chest loosening with the simple action.

Atsumu yelps against him, and the sound is enough to make Sakusa pull back before Atsumu clutches him by the collar of his shirt and draws him in closer. His lips are wet, tasting like sweat from nearly melting in the warmer environment rooms, and his nose bumps against Sakusa’s—but Sakusa doesn’t mind. His grip is tight in Sakusa’s shirt, pulling Sakusa as close as he can, but as Sakusa presses himself closer to Atsumu, his foot falls into a puddle, and his balance escapes him. 

“Shit!” Sakusa says against Atsumu’s mouth as his hands clasp Atsumu’s steady shoulders in order to regain his footing. To his credit, Atsumu holds him up well, one hand resting against the small of Sakusa’s back while the other loosens its hold in his shirt. 

Sakusa straightens and stares down at his feet. His left sneaker is dripping wet, the water seeping into his socks again. It sends a chill up his spine, and now, he’s worried that he might catch a cold if he doesn’t rush home to put on a pair of warm slippers in its place. He lifts his foot out of the puddle.

“Wow,” Sakusa mutters. “This sucks. It’s so gross.”

Atsumu is silent beside him, his shoulders trembling, and Sakusa lifts his head. 

He does so at the right time to watch Atsumu burst into uncontrollable laughter, his arms wrapped around his stomach, his hair flopping against his forehead. 

“Oh, Omi-kun,” he says as he reaches up to brush Sakusa’s curls out of his eyes. “You always find a way to make me like ya even more, dontcha?” 

* * *

A few hours later, Sakusa sits at his desk, his phone set up in front of him, his switch connected to his monitor. His feet are warm and cozy now, wrapped in a pair of his most comfortable slippers. Their time at the greenhouse feels like eons ago, even if the sensation of kissing Atsumu still seems so new. His stomach is stuffed, still reeling from the dinner he made for him, Atsumu, and Suna before he decided to set up his stream. After he sends out a tweet confirming that he’s playing Animal Crossing tonight, he looks back over his shoulder. 

Atsumu squints down at the screen of his own switch. 

“Are you ready?” Sakusa confirms. 

“Yeah.”

“Then pull up a chair.” Sakusa gestures at the fold-up chair he found in the building’s basement. 

Atsumu grabs it and hefts it over to Sakusa’s desk, setting it down right beside Sakusa’s own chair. As he pops it open, it creaks, and Atsumu places his switch down in front of him before plopping down. Once they’d arrived home, Sakusa had gone over all of the implications that came with Atsumu joining him on his stream: his viewers would ask questions, Atsumu might be bombarded across social media, and any semblance of privacy would be lost. To his credit, Atsumu took this all in stride.

“If I had minded, Omi-kun,” he’d said, “I wouldn’t have talked so much in yer chat.”

Sakusa opens his profile and prepares to start up a stream. Atsumu squirms beside him, but Sakusa takes this more as anticipation than unease. 

Suna pops his head into the doorway right when Sakusa is about to start. “Hey,” he says, his eyes landing on Sakusa and Atsumu at the desk. “I’m headed out. You’re going to stream, I assume?”

“Yeah,” Sakusa says, pulling on his headset. 

Suna nods. “Cool.” He holds up his phone. “If you need me, call.” He offers no further explanation before leaving the apartment, the door banging shut behind him, and Sakusa casts one last lingering look over to where he stood before returning his attention back to his computer screen.

“He’ll be fine,” Atsumu says. When Sakusa shoots him a confused look, he clarifies, “Suna.”

“Huh?”

“He’s prolly goin’ out to meet Samu,” Atsumu says. He taps his fingers against the edge of Sakusa’s desk. “They’re datin’ or somethin’. I dunno.”

“Oh.” Sakusa’s expression clears. That explains Suna’s absence in their apartment over the past couple of weeks. He can’t say that he’s too surprised by it. But—he never expected Suna to wind up with Atsumu’s twin brother. “That makes sense.”

“Mmhmm.” Atsumu reaches for his switch again as the mouse hovers over the button that starts up the stream. The button that turns on the camera. At that point, there’s no going back. “They’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure they will be,” Sakusa says with a soft smile. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah. One sec.” 

As Sakusa turns to see what Atsumu needs, he’s met with a pair of lips. It’s the quickest of pecks, a faint brush of mouths against each other, and Atsumu pulls back within seconds. It’s not enough. Not to Sakusa. He reaches forward, his hand resting against the nape of Atsumu’s neck as he lets the kiss linger a little longer, and when Sakusa pulls away, he lets out a content noise of satisfaction. 

“Okay,” Atsumu says, with a gummy smile. “Now I’m ready.”

Sakusa returns his smile with one of his own. “Okay.”

Sakusa returns his hand to his computer mouse and lets the cursor hover over the button. When he clicks it, the camera comes to life, and the livestream begins. 

**Author's Note:**

> many thanks to the mods in charge of sakuatsu fluff week for organizing this event. this is most definitely the fluffiest sakuatsu i've ever written, but i enjoyed every minute of it. 
> 
> apologies if the explanations for a lot of the games that are played are a little unclear. as it turns out, it is extremely hard to describe a video game with little background. it's a whole other challenge trying to pick games that are well-known and popular at the moment. (the first game they play is fall guys, but i didn't reference it by name because it's not as relevant right now.) 
> 
> there will be a part two to this that covers the sunaosa arc that runs parallel to this story, so stay tuned for that. 
> 
> say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/akaashikejis)
> 
> let me know what you thought!


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